


Desiderium

by deleiterious



Series: Haunted [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Cohabitation, Death, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Ghosts, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25620427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deleiterious/pseuds/deleiterious
Summary: Byleth Eisner does not believe in ghosts. She is a professor of the law, and nowhere in the law of nature does it state that ghosts exist.She's about to be dead wrong.---Ghost Claudeleth AU.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: Haunted [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857136
Comments: 26
Kudos: 79
Collections: Claudeleth Week 2020





	Desiderium

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first installment of my Haunted series, where I will explore the (romantic or platonic) relationship between two characters in this wacky, little universe I've cultivated. You may see cameos in future installments. I've been jamming on some fluffy, fun, and romantic AU ideas and there is much in store. First up, Claudeleth, of course! This is my late contribution to Claudeleth Week Day 2 (Modern/School prompt).

When a student Byleth has never seen before enters her lecture hall an entire thirty minutes late, the stick of chalk comes to an abrupt halt against the board. The _gall_. Byleth turns and pins the full-force of her narrow-eyed gaze on him as he traipses up a few steps to an empty seat.

"You are late to class," Byleth says sharply.

The thrum of chatter in her class falls into an eerie silence at her reprimand. The latecomer does not pay her any mind. In fact, his back is still turned to her, oblivious.

Annoyed, Byleth glares at him. A few students in that section of the hall timidly look around at each other, wondering which of them she must be referring to. The offending student turns around, giving her a glimpse of green eyes and a lazy smile. His lips curl into a full-on smirk when he spots Lorenz Gloucester sitting in front of him. Byleth knows that expression. It's the expression of a student about to pull a prank.

Byleth steps forward, mouth opening in protest when he suddenly thrusts his entire arm _through_ Lorenz's head and waggles his fingers. The stick of chalk falls out of her grip and cracks against the floor.

Lorenz doesn't even so much as blink. Neither do the students next to him.

"Professor, is something the matter?" Lorenz asks.

Byleth can only stare, transfixed by the sight of two phantom hands waving through Lorenz's face. She thinks, at first, that she must be hallucinating. Byleth blinks rapidly, but the vision doesn't disappear.

The illusory student finally glances up at her, then goes very still. Like the deliberate turning of a dial, he cocks his head so far to the side that he begins to resemble a confused puppy. He slowly points to his own face, expression questioning. Byleth feels her throat bob with a hard swallow. She feels herself nodding, so minutely that she can scarcely register it herself.

"You can see me?" he says. His eyes, green as an ancient forest in summer, go wide with shock.

"Professor?" Lorenz attempts once more.

"Class is dismissed for today," she hears herself saying.

* * *

Byleth's black boots clip briskly across the campus. She sweeps out her cell phone and immediately dials her long-time physician's personal line.

"Byleth, what a surprise!" trills Manuela. "You're long overdue for a physical exam and a pap smear. I know they're terrible, but you know they must be--"

"I'm hallucinating," Byleth announces, a mite louder than she intends to. A few students around her give her strange looks.

Manuela's convivial tone immediately takes on a solemn edge. "Since when?"

"About ten minutes ago," Byleth replies, crossing the lush campus glade.

"I'm not a hallucination," says the hallucination. He appears miffed with her, and Byleth walks right through him to get to her car.

"Do you have any other symptoms?" Manuela asks carefully.

The apparition walks through her car's passenger side door and seats himself. He props his chin on his palm, leaning in so close that their cheeks would meet if he were real.

"No other symptoms," she says, trying to ignore his languid stare. From here, she can see how long, thick, and dark his eyelashes are. There is a small freckle on his forehead, close to his widow's peak. And that jawline, sharp enough to cut glass. She has to, at least, hand it to herself. She has conjured up _quite_ the stunning image.

"This might be an aura migraine," replies Manuela. "You may start to experience some discomfort and nausea in the next twenty to thirty minutes. Drink plenty of water, get some rest, and take some pain reliever if you need to. Call me back tomorrow if you start to experience new symptoms, alright?"

"Of course," says Byleth, nearly sighing in relief. "Thank you, Manuela." The call ends and Byleth sags into the seat.

_An aura migraine. Of course._

"Hey, Teach."

Byleth jolts out of her stupor. "What?" she snaps irritably. She realizes her mistake and groans.

The apparition's eyes sparkle at the hard-won acknowledgement. "So you _can_ hear me."

Byleth takes a deep breath and starts the car, intent on getting home and ridding herself of this annoying headache.

* * *

"Byleth Eisner, Distinguished Professor of Education Law at the Garreg Mach School of Law," recites the apparition, his fingers tracing over the plaque's engraving. He looks around the room, but finds nothing else that seems personal in nature anywhere on the walls. "You don't look like a professor. You must be, what? In your mid to late twenties?"

Byleth pops the pain reliever in her mouth, as a precaution. She settles onto the couch, curling into her mother's homemade quilt for comfort, and actively tries not to think about her migraine-made-handsome.

"You know, I was probably around your age when I died," he continues, more to himself than to her at this point. His intangible fingers glide through the date etched onto her plaque. "No one has ever seen me until today, until you. And I've been dead for five years."

Byleth has gone perfectly still behind him.

He turns, hands casually stuffed into his pockets, and grins. "What's with the face? You look like you've seen a ghost."

* * *

Byleth may not want to believe in ghosts, but now she is definitely haunted.

Khalid follows her absolutely everywhere, and there are times she cannot help but compare him to an attention-starved, stray puppy. He wants to talk to her all the damn time. At first, she thinks it must be because he loves to hear the sound of his own voice. Soon, however, she realizes that it is actually because there is finally someone for him to talk _to_.

Khalid sticks his disembodied head through the bathroom door. "Hey, Teach--"

Byleth starts, jerking her precision eyeliner up and into her forehead. A waterproof streak of liquid black shines against her pale skin. Her eyes narrow in the mirror, shooting her ghostly new roommate a poisonous look.

"Is that the style these days?" he jokes.

"Khalid," she hisses in warning. "I told you to stay out of the bathroom whenever I'm in it."

Eventually, he does. But only after the shower incident.

"Khalid! What the fuck--get _out_!" shouts Byleth, the sting of shampoo blurring her vision. Through the flimsy shower curtain, she can see the faint outline of his form. She sloppily grabs a bottle off her shower caddy and lobs it at the sound of his voice.

"Sorry, it--" Khalid doesn't bother to duck out of its trajectory and the bottle clatters against the wall. "--completely slipped my mind!"

"OUT," she responds, even louder.

"Sorry!" he repeats, this time from behind the bathroom door.

Byleth exits her bathroom several long minutes later, her eyes bloodshot from the soap.

To his merit, Khalid at least has the decency to appear embarrassed by the gaffe. "I guess I've picked up some bad habits from being a ghost this long." He rubs the back of his neck with a ginger look. "I've seen a lot of naked people in the past five years. I forgot what it's like to be alive and care about something like modesty."

"Just," Byleth begins, feeling a twist of sorrow at the words, "don't do it again."

"I didn't see anything," he continues, and Byleth turns red to the tips of her ears.

"Okay, please," she manages, " _please_ , stop talking."

* * *

A few months into Byleth's unfortunate haunting, she starts to find herself getting used to her shadow half. They spend a fair amount of time in silence, which Byleth finds surprisingly comfortable. A few days a week, Byleth pores over the latest cases in her field while Khalid peruses through her personal library. When he finds something he likes, she slides it out of the bookshelf, props it open on the couch next to her, and flips the pages for him.

On weekends, she goes about her usual routine of weekly meal preparation, of steamed vegetables and some simple protein. A few weeks into the auditing the practice, Khalid realizes with disbelief that she always prepares the same type of bland meal.

"Let me guess, Teach," he remarks blithely, "steamed carrots and baked salmon...again."

Byleth removes the large bag of carrots from her refrigerator. "Yes," she turns to him, blinking those large blue eyes at him, "is there something wrong with that?"

"You ever heard of these mysterious substances," Khalid asks, lifting both eyebrows, "called spices?"

"I put salt and pepper on it," she protests mildly.

"Do you even know what cardamom is?"

Byleth's expression flattens into a pout.

She decides to shut him up by buying spices at the store she doesn't know how to use and recreating his favorite recipes. The first attempt is a miserable failure. She fans smoke away from the fire alarm while Khalid's laugh fills the house. Eventually, she gets it close, and the sparkle in Khalid's eyes as he watches her chow down moves her in some unspeakable way. Her fingers twitch, craving skin that she cannot touch.

Byleth clears her throat. "I wish you could try some, and tell me how I'm doing."

The corners of his eyes crinkle into a smile. "I wish I could too."

That night, she feels a painful twist of sadness that Khalid is already dead.

* * *

"What's that sandwich taste like?"

Byleth stops mid-bite, her eyes flicking from fellow colleague Hanneman to her irritating personal specter. She narrows her eyes at him in warning, and tries to focus on the conversation at hand. Khalid knows by now she hates to answer him when people are around them. She has been caught twice in the faculty lounge speaking to the wall, and her colleagues have started to give her furtive looks.

"Teach," he attempts again, weaponizing his affectionate nickname for her, "what's that sandwich taste like? C'mon, don't leave a guy hanging."

"Not now," she hisses out of the corner of her mouth.

"What was that, Professor Eisner?" Hanneman asks.

Byleth coughs into her sandwich. "Nothing."

Hanneman nods, and continues on, unruffled.

After the faculty mixer, she makes a bee-line for her car. As soon as she shuts the door behind her, she turns a frown on him. "It tasted like turkey, lettuce and mayo."

"Do you always have to be so literal?" groans Khalid, letting his head sink through the passenger chair in a show of annoyance.

"You wanted me to tell you how it tasted."

"I don't even remember what turkey or lettuce tastes like. Couldn't you," he gestures broadly in the air, "be a little more poetic or descriptive?"

A knot appears between Byleth's forehead. She's a lawyer and a law professor, not an artist. But the look on his face makes her try. "The turkey was a little sweet," Byleth feels ridiculous but Khalid immediately perks up at her attempt, "maybe it was glazed in honey or maple syrup...and the lettuce, it was very fresh and crunchy." Khalid leans in and Byleth, feeling self-conscious, leans back. "The lettuce tasted like water," she finishes weakly.

"I love honey," Khalid says, brightening. "I used to have it all the time in my favorite tea."

"Almyran pine needle," she says before he can say it himself.

He gives her a megawatt grin. "Yeah."

"Do you remember what honey tastes like?" she asks gently.

His face falls, and she instantly wishes she could take it back. "Ah, no."

"Oh."

Byleth drives the rest of the way home in silence, unable to conjure words worthy of easing that grim expression off his face. When she arrives home, she ducks into her study and spends hours isolated in it. She does not emerge from the room until well past midnight, her back stiff from hours hunched over her laptop. Byleth glances at the clock, and her stomach drops when she realizes she needs to be back on campus in less than eight hours.

Stifling back a yawn, she shuffles into her unlit bedroom. The small curve of the moon in the sky illuminates the ghostly figure floating atop her comforter. His eyes are closed, but she knows he cannot sleep. "Khalid," she begins, tipping forward into her queen-sized bed, "move."

She fully expects him to comply, but he doesn't.

Byleth's face goes right through Khalid's stomach. When she yanks herself upright, mortified, her nose brushes his, though she cannot feel it. Her breath catches in her throat. The moonlight through her window catches along his cheekbones, and she cannot help but think that they are fine, that everything about him is fine.

"Sorry," she says quickly, embarrassed by the errant thought. Khalid starts, as if suddenly pulled from a reverie. She scrambles to the top of the bed and busies herself with fluffing the pillows. "I thought you'd move."

"You surprised me," he replies.

Byleth slips under the covers, shoving her head well below the fold of the blanket to muffle the sweet sound of his voice. She counts seconds, minutes, almost praying for sleep.

"Hey," he whispers, and she peeks one eye out. Khalid sits cross-legged on the lip of the bed with a thoughtful look on his face. "Can you tell me what it's like to sleep?"

A thoughtful, melancholic expression crosses her face. Byleth shifts beneath the blankets, tucking her cheek into the pale curve of her hand. She takes a breath, and tries her best to be a poet for him.

An hour later, Byleth has fallen asleep with her wild dark hair fanned out against the ivory silk of her pillowcase. Khalid lays down next to her, fingers ghosting over her cheek.

* * *

It is exceedingly rare for Byleth to request a personal day from work, and rarer still, for her to use that day for seemingly nothing at all.

That day, Byleth does not rise from bed until the sun spills past her curtains, warming the floor of her bedroom such that it feels pleasant when she pads across it to start the day. Byleth descends the stairs to the kitchen, dressed in nothing but a plain loose tee and dark denim jeans. Her hair, usually unstyled, is pulled high into a ponytail, the draping ends whispering against the back of her neck.

The effect is nothing short of captivating to Khalid. "You're looking..." Khalid searches for a word and lands on, "casual."

Byleth's lips lift at the corners. "I took the day off."

"What's the occasion?"

Byleth pulls open the stainless steel refrigerator door, angling for a glass of orange juice. As she pours, she glances up at him curiously. "You've forgotten?"

Khalid stares at her, hard, until realization loosens the knots of confusion on his face. "You couldn't mean--"

"Your birthday."

Khalid is a ghost, and ghosts don't feel things. Yet, somehow the words shake him in a way he hasn't felt since he was alive. He cannot remember the last time anyone celebrated his birthday with him.

Byleth tips the orange juice to her mouth, and Khalid feels a pang of envy. For a glass of _juice_. A bright bead of color lingers on the corner of her mouth and Khalid longs to brush it away. Instead, he dumbly points to the spot. Byleth blinks, and swipes the drop off her lips. Khalid no longer has any blood to blush with, but he would've if he had.

"So, what would you like to do or see today?" Her eyes are soft, like the deepest blue in the darkest part of the night.

He swallows, overwhelmed. "You're asking me?" he says quietly.

She seems bemused by the question. "Yes, Khalid. You choose."

A grin breaks out on his face. "You better start writing then. I've got a bucket list."

They spend the first part of the day downtown, in Little Almyra, where the local Almyran immigrant community gathers. The area is bursting with Almyran restaurants, dessert shops, and bookshops filled with literature Byleth cannot read. Khalid tours her around his favorite shops. He has her order a myriad of items off a local cafe menu. Byleth bites into a date cake bursting with sweetness, surprised by the crumble of candied nuts inside. Her eyes light up and she orders a few more to bring home, delighting Khalid.

When Byleth is full from the eating circuit, he points her into his favorite local bookstore. The space is cramped, every crevice stuffed with books, many of them secondhand. She follows him as he flitters about the space like a child in a candy store. He openly marvels at the new collections in the history section, then his face goes rapt with attention in the adjacent politics section. Byleth collects everything he takes an interest in, and pays for them despite his protests. The shopkeeper piles Khalid's books into a cloth bag that she pays extra for as a keepsake.

"Teach, you really shouldn't have," he repeats for the umpteenth time.

"It's your birthday. When's the last time you read something you actually wanted to?"

"Your home library isn't that bad," he laughs, then he schools his jaunty expression into one of gratitude. "Thank you."

Byleth returns the smile as she sets the cloth bag into the back of her car. "Where to next?"

When he replies "Lake Teutates," she drives them a few hours outside of the city proper. Although she's lived nearby for many years, she has never visited the lake.

Khalid hops into the water, disappearing beneath the surface. When he pops out, his green eyes have blown wide with wonder. "So many fish down here, Teach!" He makes a show of swimming through the water, but his strokes leave the water rippleless. Eventually, he returns to her side. She sits by the edge of the water, carefully cupping a date cake to catch crumbs as she snacks. "Not going to try the water?" he asks playfully.

Byleth shakes her head, her tongue swiping at stray crumbs. "I'm okay just watching."\

"Aww, c'mon!" he groans. "At least dip your feet in the water. Live a little!" Byleth stares down at her sneakers, feeling uncertain. "Please?"

Byleth's heart does a little flip at the sound of his plea, and she ducks her head in an attempt to conceal the reaction. "Okay."

* * *

Late on a Friday night, Byleth receives a response to an email that she has been waiting for.

_Salutations, Professor. Thank you for your inquiry. The short answer is yes. You are welcome to come by anytime._

The knot in Byleth's stomach tightens as her gaze travels to Khalid, lounging on the couch with one of the Almyran books propped open in front of him. She closes out of the email, and decides that, tomorrow, she will tell him.

Over breakfast the next day, Byleth picks at the fluffy eggs on her plate. Light and full of flavor, they are a far-cry from her original recipe, thanks to Khalid.

"Something on your mind?"

It's the opening she needs, yet she still hesitates. She cannot be sure of his response. "Actually, there's some place I'd like us to visit. It's a shop on the outskirts of town and they specialize in," Byleth takes a deep breath before continuing, "ghosts like you. I thought maybe they could do something to help you."

"Help me?" he echoes, looking skeptical. "Where did you hear about this place from exactly?"

Byleth winces. "The internet."

Khalid snorts, rolling his eyes. "It's got to be some kind of hoax, Teach."

"I thought ghosts were a hoax until you came along."

He looks down at himself, sighing. "Fair point. I didn't believe in ghosts either, until I became one."

"So you'll go?"

He shrugs. "I guess it couldn't hurt. Maybe they'll be able to give me better ghost abilities. Walking through walls is getting really old."

* * *

Byleth steps to the front door of the shop _Sweet Second Chance_ , and a melodious bell chimes above her as she enters. Inside, one of the walls is obscured entirely by a large bookcase. Ancient tomes, carefully arranged, fill every crevice of the bookcase. Neither of them recognize the words inscribed on the spines. Warm, glowing bulbs hang from every beam in the ceiling. Small potted plants dot dusty coffee tables. The place faintly smells of baked sweets. 

"Ah, I've been expecting you, Professor." The voice comes from around the corner: pleasant, mild, and sleepy. A tall man with long hair pinned into a bun steps into view. He holds an age-worn leather tome shut in one of his hands. "I take it you've brought your friend with you as well?" he inquires with a tilt of his head.

Byleth glances at Khalid, then nods. For a moment, Khalid is floored that a person other than Byleth can sense him. The feeling disappears as soon as the man inclines his head, many degrees off from where Khalid is standing. The man introduces himself as Linhardt.

"Byleth, this guy can't even see me. Are you sure he's legit?"

Byleth makes a sound in her throat at Khalid, the same warning she issues whenever her students are interrupting her in lecture. "About the email I received--"

"Ah," Linhardt shakes his head, "that was my business partner Lysithea, although I've been made aware of your situation."

As if summoned by the mention of her name, a petite young woman with long locks the color of freshly fallen snow appears holding a plate topped with a half-eaten cupcake. She shoots Linhardt a disapproving look. "Lin, you were supposed to inform me if we had clients."

"My bad, Lysithea. I figured you were busy."

Lysithea scoffs, then follows everyone's eyes to the plate of cake in her hands. She clears her throat and sets it down on the nearest coffee table. "I wasn't busy at all," she responds, her pitch a touch higher than expected.

Khalid waves at Byleth impatiently. "They're in cahoots, Teach. This whole thing is a scam."

"Is that what you really think?" Lysithea asks indignantly, her eyes flashing in anger as she fixes her eyes on him. Khalid freezes in place, and his mouth drops open. "I can see and _hear_ you, unlike Lin here."

"You _can_?"

"Of course, you dolt," Lysithea says hotly, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"You see, the ability to see ghosts," adds Linhardt, seemingly unperturbed by Lysithea's temper, "while rare, does exist. The odds are somewhere north of one in a million and south of one in a billion. However, because of its exceptional rareness, it's common for the human who can see and the ghost who can be seen to grow very attached toward one another. We're no strangers to your situation. I understand you have no reason to trust us, but...what do you have to lose?"

Byleth and Khalid exchange significant, almost embarrassed, glances.

"So what exactly can you do to help?" Byleth finally asks.

Lysithea settles into a chair beside her cupcake. "There are two options. Most choose the first, which is this," Lysithea turns to Khalid with a solemn look, "we can remove the tether that anchors you to this world. You will, well and truly, die. You'd move on."

The hopeful shine in Khalid's eyes is dashed as quickly as it appears. Byleth cannot imagine what it must be like to be a ghost, trapped on this mortal plane yet unable to affect it in any way, cursed to watch the existences of others with no end in sight. Yet, the thought of having Khalid simply cease to exist puts a pit of cold dread in her stomach.

Lysithea does not seem surprised by his silence. She smooths the fabric of her skirt, unhurried. "The other option, you must understand, is not easy."

"Well," Khalid speaks through the thick knot in his throat, "let's hear it."

"Rather than remove the tether," Linhardt supplies, "we can strengthen it."

Byleth feels as though he has told her something crucially important, but her mind troubles itself trying to piece the meaning together. "What does that entail?"

"A human needs to voluntarily relinquish half of their life-force to the spirit. Tethered by something so powerful and alive, the spirit can regain their human form. It doesn't necessarily mean the human's lifespan will be halved. The books we've read don't make it very clear what the relationship between life-force and lifespan is. Both parties remain tethered throughout the rest of their shared life, until the total reservoir of life-force is exhausted."

"Regain human form..." Khalid looks positively dazed. "I could be _alive_?"

"Yes," Lysithea answers him, "at a significant price. You need a willing partner." Linhardt gives her shoulder a squeeze, his lips lifting into an uncharacteristic smile.

"I don't have...I can't--"

"I'll do it," says Byleth.

"Absolutely not!" hisses Khalid. "You can't just--"

"Yes," she challenges him, her eyes as fierce and unshakeable as the ocean itself, "I _can_. I know how badly you want to be alive, Khalid. I want that too. If I can help, please let me."

He quickly turns his head away, afraid of being swayed by that look she's giving him. "Are you sure about this, Teach? Sounds like you'd be stuck with me forever. Is that what you really want?"

Byleth's voice is clearer than he's ever heard it when she says yes.

* * *

With practiced hands, Linhardt and Lysithea begin to trace the markings depicted in an ancient text along Byleth's skin. The ink spirals out from the space above Byleth's heart, curling around her neck and temple.

"What about me? Do I get markings too?" Khalid rotates in the air like a gymnast, utilizing his last moments as a ghost to defy the laws of physics.

"Does it look like these things can draw on thin air?" snaps Lysithea irritably, her pout becoming pronounced as she finishes off the markings along the back of Byleth's hands.

"So what do I do?" Khalid pops his head through the center table, watching them from the top of the ancient tome like a severed head.

"Sit still," retorts Lysithea, blowing the bangs out of her face.

He doesn't.

"And finished," says Lysithea with a flourish, admiring her handiwork. Byleth cautiously lowers her arms to her sides, to avoid smearing the ink against her exposed abdomen.

"Step into this transmutation circle, if you will," Linhardt instructs her.

Byleth's gaze lands on the strange symbols drawn in white chalk on the floor of the shop. She steps over the delicate lines and into the circle.

Khalid begins to float over to Byleth's side, but Lysithea stops him with a venomous look. "Don't. You can't go in there yet."

He instantly steps back, arms raised in surrender. "Sorry," he responds meekly.

"When I give you the signal, you will step into the circle, into Byleth's body." She scowls distastefully at Khalid's brain-addled expression. "Don't make it gross. I mean you'll need to walk until you pass through her like you'd pass through a wall. When you're inside her," Lysithea shoots him a warning look and he returns a crooked grin, "remain there until the circle disappears."

Khalid nods, holding himself very still outside of the circle.

Byleth gives him a reassuring smile. "I'll be okay, Khalid."

He forces back a smile, hoping with everything he is that she's right. He longs to hold her hand, to support her in some way other than with his gaze.

"Lin, on my signal." Lysithea clasps both hands as if in prayer, her eyes fluttering shut. Linhardt mirrors her. In unison, they begin to chant, the words quick and lilting like a bird dancing through the sky.

The chalk surrounding Byleth glows white-hot, so bright that it becomes painful to look at. Byleth's heart thunders in her chest; she isn't sure if it's from the sudden heat or her nerves. Slowly, as if being lit from within, the ink on her skin bleaches a brilliant white. The chanting grows louder. Sweat drips down Linhardt's brow, and Lysithea's eyebrows are bent together deeply in concentration. The sensation of sleep wraps itself like a vise around Byleth, drawing her eyelids shut. Her breathing slows, until she scarcely breathes at all.

Fear twists Khalid's stomach. He has half a mind to call the whole thing off. "Byleth!"

Lysithea cracks an eye open. "She'll be fine," she hisses, as if under an enormous strain. "Go now."

Khalid doesn't move.

"Now!" Lysithea rasps, jolting him to his senses.

He leaps into the circle, and immediately feels the tether calling him to her. Khalid calls out her name, once, but Byleth doesn't open her eyes. He takes one last look at the mages holding the circle in place, then he steps forward into the space where Byleth's heart beats.

Khalid feels himself disappear.

* * *

The moment Khalid feels the floor beneath his feet and the air in his lungs, he knows he's alive. He staggers back from the shock of the thought, clapping a hand over his mouth. When he realizes he can feel his face, everything from his nose to the faint prickle of stubble on his chin, he claps the other hand to his mouth.

Khalid screams.

He feels the ricochet of his vocal cords against his throat, the sound vibrating against his eardrums. Behind him, Linhardt winces and presses his hands over his ears. Lysithea brings a bell-shaped sleeve up to her face, ostensibly to cough into it. Beneath the slip of fabric, her face breaks into a wide smile.

And Byleth breaks into a loud, beautiful laugh.

Khalid pulls Byleth into an immediate hug, partly surprising himself. The ensuing sensation is like nothing he's ever felt before. When his skin meets hers, he feels entirely whole. It must be the part of her that is shared with him responding to its root. Pressed snugly against Khalid's chest, she hears his heartbeat and recognizes its rhythm. His heart beats in tandem with her own. Here in the flesh, wrapped in his arms, he looks and feels even better than she imagined he would.

She peers up at him, almost shy beneath the beaming bright green of his eyes. He smiles at her softly and tips his nose to hers. "I can't believe you're really here, Khalid."

His smile grows wider. "Hey, don't forget my new identity for blending in. It's Claude now, remember?"

"Claude," she utters. He finds it suits him, when she says it.

"But you get to call me whatever you want, Byleth," he says playfully.

Succeeding in his desired effect, Byleth's cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink. Not to be outdone, she leans forward. "I will," she whispers, kissing him on the nose, "Khalid."

  
  



End file.
